


Blood Brothers

by FranklinPosner



Category: Dexter (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Crossover, Explicit Language, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranklinPosner/pseuds/FranklinPosner
Summary: When the Punisher visits Miami, newly promoted police lieutenant Debra Morgan vows to stop him. However, when Deb and her brother, blood spatter analyst (and vigilante serial killer) Dexter Morgan, find themselves in over their heads, who will come to their rescue?
Relationships: Debra Morgan/Dexter Morgan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHORS NOTE: This story is set in an alternative season 6 of Dexter where Debra Morgan has been promoted to lieutenant, but the Doomsday killings had not yet started. Likewise, I had to change the timeline of the MCU Punisher series to fit it in the timeline of the Dexter series; since the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were going on at that time, I thought it wasn’t much of a stretch. I elected to tell this story in first-person narrative, in keeping with both the narrative of the series and of the Jeff Lindsay novels; naturally, I had to surrender the omniscience that TV screen writers tend to have. Any other mistakes or goofs herein are purely mine.

Dr. Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is a generally accepted theory in modern psychology. According to his theory, there are basic needs that must be met before humans can go on to the next level of development, a progression that begins with simple physical needs – food, water, shelter, sleep – then continues to the next level, that of security and safety, and then to more abstract concepts such as social belonging, self-esteem, and self-actualization. I never really got a grip on those more abstract concepts – human relationships have always been a bit of a mystery to me, even if I can masquerade as normal. Relationships are very often, with few exceptions (my sister, for one, my son and stepchildren for another) simply a tool I use to masquerade as normal, and to keep my dark passenger at bay. I do suppose that my adoptive father, Harry, did instill in me a sort of sense of belonging, when he gave me his code, the rules by which I live and operate. Still, it has been frustratingly lonely for me. But who would accept me, once they’ve seen what is truly inside me? Once they’ve seen my dark passenger? Harry saw it and couldn’t bear it. My brother knew it, and thought that it would bring us together, but he was wrong. Miguel and Lila both saw it, and both wanted to use it for their own ends. Rita may have seen bits and pieces, but Trinity stole her away from me. Lumen saw it, and accepted it, but she’s gone now. Everyone eventually leaves me, in one way or another. If being able to form normal, lasting relationships are a basic need, then I come up short, with the sole exception being my sister, Debra – then again, she doesn’t really know me, and I hope she never finds out about my dark passenger, because then I’m sure I’d lose her as well. I have to wonder what Dr. Maslow would have thought of me. After all, murder is not on his hierarchy.  
Tim Sobieski has seen my dark passenger. Of course, it’s the last thing he did see, after I plunged my butcher knife into his plastic-wrapped torso. Mr. Sobieski was a serial child molester who had gone on to child murder. If anyone met the qualifications of my code, it was him. Miami Metro Police looked at him as a person of interest in the disappearance of some neighborhood children, one of them just a year older than my son. He managed to avoid prosecution for his crimes; of course, I helped suppress some important evidence against him, because I wanted him on my table, which eventually he ended up on. Now Tim Sobieski, child murderer, was dead, and the children of Miami would be safe. I was more than happy to carve his detestable corpse up, load it onto my boat, and dump it into the ocean, which I was doing when I got the late-night call from my sister, police Lt. Debra Morgan.  
“Dexter? Where the fuck are you? I need you, like, right fucking now. Holy fucking shit, it’s a fucking bloodbath down here. Blood fucking everywhere.”  
“Slow down, Deb, what’s going on?”  
“What’s--? It’s a fucking bloodbath!”  
“You said that.”  
“There are fucking bodies everywhere! It’s a motherfucking war zone down here in Little Havana! Get your ass down here, right fucking now!”  
A war zone. A blood bath. A blood-spatter analyst’s job is never done in Miami. It means job security for me, as well as a convenient cover, and a positive use for some of my skills. I piloted my boat back to the marina then hopped into my car for the journey to Little Havana. When I arrived, there were more police cars on that one stretch of street than I ever saw at Metro’s parking facilities. The red and blue lights danced to the strains of Salsa music as I headed into the Noche Azul night club. Noche Azul had a reputation with Miami Metro as being one of the favorite hangouts of the Cuban mob. Now, that reputation had come back to bite, and bite it did. The dance floor was empty, except for a couple bodies, both which were oozing blood from multiple gunshot wounds. Deb came out from the back room to meet me. “Jesus Christ,” She said. “What the fuck took so long?”  
“Late night fishing trip.”  
“Fuck it, I don’t want to know. The real fucked up shit is in back, so get your ass back there. I’m going to show you something that might even fuck you up.”  
I didn’t think I could be fucked up, at least not any further than I already was. What I saw, when I entered the backroom, made me think that maybe I was wrong about that. “What the hell happened here?”  
Sgt. Angel Batista approached me, a scowl on his face. “It’s a fucking war zone in here,” He said. “Bodies and brass everywhere.”  
“More brass here than at the strip club after the deputy chief’s retirement,” My lab mate, Vince Masuka, said. “Watch where you step, or you might slip in either blood or expended casings.”  
I began my walk of the room. I counted eight bodies lying there on the floor in pools of thick red blood. Every single one of them was armed, some with handguns, submachine guns, and assault rifles adjacent, some still gripping them. “We have a few different calibers,” Detective Joey Quinn said, “A lot of 5.56, some .45 ACP, oddly, I don’t think these guys got too many rounds off before whatever team it was hit them.”  
Another lab tech raised her hand. “Detectives!” She said. “I’ve got what looks to be a couple expended grenades here.”  
“Jesus Christ,” Deb said, “Fucking grenades?”  
“Yes, Lieutenant.”  
I went over to the tech’s position. “Yeah,” I said, “One’s a flash-bang, the other is a smoke grenade.”  
“That’s some military shit,” Quinn said. “Whoever the killers were, they had connections, if they have military-grade hardware like this.”  
My curiosity was, of course, sky-high. This was the biggest scene of carnage I’d ever seen in Miami. “By the way,” Vince said, “There are two more bodies out back, armed like these guys, but they weren’t shot.”  
I went out the rear entrance, into a short hall. There was a body there, a large Cuban man armed with an Uzi. He wasn’t shot; his throat was cut open. As Angel and Vince came into the hall, I pointed this out. “Whoever took him out came up from behind, cupped his mouth, then slashed his throat, severing the jugular and slicing his windpipe. Blood spatter pattern on the wall bears that out.”  
“Like taking out a sentry,” Quinn said.  
“Come again?”  
“This is special-ops shit, that’s what I’m saying.”  
“Yeah, well, I’ll have to agree with you. Whoever did this had training.”  
Vince then came into the hall. “Hey, everybody,” he said, “You are not going to believe whose body we found out there: your old pal, Benny Cervantes.”  
Angel’s eyes widened. “No shit? That hijo de puta finally got what was coming to him?”  
Benny Cervantes had been on Miami Metro’s – and my own – radar for quite some time. He had his fingers in all flavors of pie – drugs, prostitution, illicit gambling, extortion, and guns. I, of course, would have enjoyed seeing Benny on my table, but he was always guarded, much as he was this night. Whoever it was that put Benny out of South Florida’s misery apparently didn’t have the same reservations as I.  
“Where’s the other body?” I asked. The lab tech pointed out the back door. I went into the alley and saw the last body, or should I say, the first body. Angel and Quinn followed me.  
“Holy fuck,” Quinn said, “How many fucking bodies are out here?”  
“Counting this guy, the guy in the hall, the eight in the backroom, and the two on the dance floor, that’s twelve,” Angel said. “Twelve dead mobsters. All armed, not that it did them any good.”  
I looked at the body. This one, too, had been taken from behind. “Same MO as with the body in the hall. Approached from behind. The killer didn’t waste time. This was business. He had to be quiet with this one, and the guy in the hallway.”  
“He?” Quinn asked. “It sounds like you’re talking about one guy.”  
“That’s what it was. One killer.” I said it; I couldn’t believe it, myself. However, everything I saw, from the blood spatter, to the progression of the scene itself, to the distribution of the empty cases on the floor, screamed at me that this was not one group of gangsters against a second group of gangsters. No, this was a mass shooting, with the exception that every dead gang member in that nightclub had been armed. I began walking through the scene. “Unknown subject came behind victim number one, then took him out. The size and depth of the cut would indicate a large knife, probably a combat-type knife like a marine bowie or Ka-bar, and would also indicate that the assailant was a fairly large and physically powerful individual. The MO, height, and raw physical power of the attacker indicate that the assailant is most likely male.”  
“And you already think it’s a male,” Quinn said.  
“Would you disagree?”  
“Oh, fuck no. Not to be sexist or anything.”  
“Right. How did the assailant enter this alley without witnesses?” I looked around, seeking to answer my own question. I didn’t have to look far. “Rappelling cord, right next to the dumpster.”  
“Shit, rappelling cord? Who the fuck are we dealing with here, Dexter?”  
“I don’t know, but I would not want to piss him off.” It’s true; I’ve had my run-ins with some very dangerous killers, but few of them scared me. This guy did, whoever he was. I then led Quinn back into the hall. “Assailant then takes out the second guard here, same way he did in the alley, then threw the two grenades into the backroom. Cervantes and his friends were taken by surprise. Assailant then began firing, I’d say it’s an M4-type carbine, fully automatic. From the distribution of the brass, it looks like he fired the carbine in short bursts.”  
“Short bursts?” Angel asked. “I was talking with some SWAT guys at the range a while back. They were showing off their gear, you know, and they told me that when they go full rock-and-roll, they fire their M4s in short bursts.”  
“Further proving that this guy knew what he was doing,” Quinn said.  
Deb came over to us. “So, Dex, what’s your take?”  
“Dexter thinks it was a single guy,” Angel said.  
“Seriously? Motherfucker!”  
At that moment, Deb’s cellphone rang. Deb pulled the phone from her pocket. “It’s LaGuerta,” She said. “Hello, Captain? Who? Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious? Yeah. Okay. I won’t get in the way, and we’ll provide whatever fucking assistance they need.” Deb then hung up the phone. “Motherfucker!”  
“What is it, Deb?” I asked.  
“It’s the fucking feds. The FBI told LaGuerta that they’re taking over the scene.”  
The feds were once again raining on my parade. However, in this case, I was in over my head and I knew it; it would actually be nice, for once, to have the junior G-men taking point on this one. I didn’t have long to ruminate on the possibilities when raid-jacketed federal agents began swarming my crime scene. The leader, a tall Latin man, flashed his credentials to Deb.  
“You Morgan?” The man asked. “I’m Special Agent Saul Javier, Miami FBI.”  
“Yeah, me Morgan,” Deb replied in her charmingly snarky way. “What the fuck is this all about?”  
“This is all about us taking over this scene—”  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who the fuck are you to just barge in here, in my fucking crime scene, and tell us you’re taking over?”  
“Lieutenant, I am not at liberty to discuss this matter with you. What I need you to do is to remove your detectives and CSI techs from this scene immediately.”  
“What the actual fuck? What aren’t you telling me?”  
“Again, I am not at liberty—”  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re not at fucking liberty.”  
“Look, Lieutenant. I cannot discuss this matter here and now, but I promise you that we will share all pertinent information with the Miami Police Department as soon as it becomes available. Okay?”  
“Not really.”  
“Lieutenant, your Captain LaGuerta promised me you’d cooperate. So, perhaps you should.”  
“Fine.” Deb then stormed away, but as she left, I heard her curse under her breath, “And perhaps you should go fuck yourself.”  
Angel approached her before I did. “What the hell is up that, Deb?”  
“Fucking FBI cocksuckers are stealing our crime scene from us, that’s what’s up with that.”  
“Well, you know, Deb,” I said, “Maybe it’s for the best.”  
“What the fuck, Dexter? You think it’s ‘for the best’? Are you fucking serious?”  
“Look, Deb, if this is the work of one man, then we are all in way over our heads here.”  
Deb nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, Dexter. You’re always fucking right.”  
“Well, I’m not, but thank you for thinking so.”  
“But if that’s what’s going on, then, fuck, wouldn’t it be nice to give us some sort of heads-up in case we run into this motherfucker?”  
Of course, that would be the generous thing to do. Professional courtesy, anyway. But the feds seem to be short on that. Deb called out to everyone and told them that the FBI was taking over and we had to leave.  
“What? Seriously?” Vince Masuka asked me.  
“Yeah,” I told him, “Sorry to disappoint.”  
“So, I wasted all this time, time I could have been spending at the Lookout.”  
“The Lookout?”  
“Yeah. My new favorite gentleman’s club. Oh my god, Dexter, that place is melon heaven, if you’re into big ones. I mean, watermelon big, you know what I mean?”  
I did know what he meant. I wish I didn’t.

*

The death of Benny Cervantes wasn’t a big disappointment for me. Sure, he’d never end up on my table, but his untimely demise opened another possibility for me – Stewart Hewitt, shady financier and mob money launderer. Stewart worked closely with the Cervantes organization, as well as other similar interests in South Florida. He also had a nasty habit – he enjoyed hurting prostitutes. Sometimes he went too far with his one-sided S&M antics and ended up killing the young lady. Since he was held in high esteem by the Cervantes group, they helped cover for him, including disposing of bodies. All Miami PD knew was that some street walkers had gone missing. They didn’t know what I knew. I needed to up my timetable for Stewart, just in case he felt the need to skip town following his buddy’s death. However, for now, I had to go to my day job. The first thing I ran into, when I entered Metro’s Homicide division, was my sister’s angry face. I mean, her angrier than usual face.  
“Fucking FBI assclowns,” She said.  
“Good morning to you too,” I replied. “Damn, I forgot your coffee. Here, let me—”  
“Huh-uh. The feds have taken over the fucking squad room. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but it’s big, like, fucking huge. And they didn’t even have the goddamned courtesy to give us a heads-up. I’m walking into this thing blind as a fucking bat. So, we don’t have time for fucking coffee. Well? Don’t just stand there!”  
I followed Deb into the squad room. The whiteboards were covered with large sheets of butcher paper, obviously placed to conceal the information on the whiteboards. At the front of the room stood Special Agent Javier and a couple other nondescript FBI suits. Captain LaGuerta stood at the podium. You knew this had to be serious if LaGuerta was leading it. LaGuerta motioned for Deb to stand with her at the podium. I took my seat next to Vince, right behind Sgt. Batista and Detective Quinn. “This has to be serious if your ex-wife is leading it up, Angel,” Quinn said.  
“It’s ‘Captain LaGuerta’, asshole,” Angel replied. “But yeah, it doesn’t look good.”  
“Okay, everyone, attention,” LaGuerta said, “By now, the whole city is familiar with the Noche Azul club shootings. Special Agent Javier with the FBI is here to brief us on their findings. Special Agent, if you will.”  
LaGuerta stood aside as Javier took the podium. “Good morning, detectives of Miami Metro’s Homicide division. Or, maybe it’s not such a good morning, as the case may be. We at the Federal Bureau of Investigation have conducted our investigation of the Noche Azul shootings and have come to some conclusions. I first must warn you that anything you hear or see at this briefing must be considered highly classified and not to be shared with anyone outside this office. Is this understood?” Everyone nodded along, like so many trained sheep. “Very well. Agent Callender, if you would be so kind, go ahead and unveil our findings.”  
The female agent then stripped the butcher paper from the whiteboards. Underneath were photographs and news articles. Most of the photographs were of one man. I’ve been long able to tell if someone is potential competition, even from pictures. I credit this to what I call my ‘lizard brain’. It’s a basic survival function that has not been stripped away by eons of evolution. And the man in the pictures took my attention immediately. From the looks of his square jaw line and dark eyes, I knew this man was an alpha predator, the apex of the food chain. Not just a killer, but a killer’s killer.  
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Javier said, “Meet Frank Castle, aka The Punisher.”  
Audible gasps went up from the detectives. “Holy shit,” Vince said to me, “I heard about this guy. This guy is the real deal. Wiped out a shit-ton of mobsters in the Big Apple last year. Yeah, there was a special on him on 60 Minutes—"  
“Everyone, quiet down,” LaGuerta said. Of course, we listened. “Special Agent, please, continue with your briefing.”  
“Thank you, Captain,” Javier said. “We have determined that the assault on the Noche Azul nightclub was carried out by Mr. Castle, if for no other reason than the fact the he leaves a trail of dead bodies wherever he goes. As mentioned, he goes under the alias The Punisher. He is a vigilante who considers what he does to be just.”  
“The worst kind of criminal,” Angel whispered, “One who finds moral justification for his crimes.” Of course, he could have been talking about me, and I knew it. Thank goodness Angel didn’t know.  
“It gets worse: Mr. Castle was a Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps. He was assigned to Force Recon and is a decorated veteran of the Iraq and Afghanistan campaigns. On one of his tours, he was assigned to Operation Cerberus, a formerly classified black ops unit assigned to seek out and assassinate enemy assets. They employed all sorts of unsanctioned techniques in order to gain information from prisoners, many of whom were enemy combatants, and some of whom were not.”  
“’Unsanctioned techniques’?” Deb asked. “The fuck does that mean? Torture? Murder?”  
“All of the above. Eventually, Operation Cerberus was shut down. Afterwards, Castle’s tour ended, and he returned stateside. Unfortunately, not long after his return, his wife and children were murdered right in front of him. This was the inception event, the event that triggered Castle’s transformation into The Punisher. With everything he loved taken from him, he began a vengeance quest to kill everyone responsible. Eventually he found that rogue elements of Operation Cerberus were behind the murders. He hunted them down. Now remember, these were all highly trained special operations personnel, from various branches of the military. I should not have to tell you that we consider Frank Castle to be heavily armed and extremely dangerous.”  
“Well, no shit,” Quinn whispered to Angel.  
“Question,” Captain LaGuerta asked, “What kind of threat does Mr. Castle present to law enforcement?”  
“The Punisher has usually been hesitant to engage law enforcement. That being said, he has assaulted law enforcement officers in order to avoid arrest, but he has not resorted to the use of deadly force against them, with a few notable exceptions.”  
“Notable exceptions, Special Agent?”  
“Yes, Captain. The few he has killed have been, shall we say, ethically challenged, and in one case, directly connected to the rogue elements of Cerberus that were responsible for his family’s deaths.”  
“So, there is some risk to law enforcement?”  
“Absolutely. As mentioned, he is to be considered armed and dangerous. If he is sighted, do not attempt to engage him yourself. Contact me and my office and we will respond with an FBI SWAT team. Is that clear?” Once again, everyone in the room nodded along. “Very good. I cannot understate how dangerous this man is. I will remain after this briefing for questions.”  
LaGuerta once again took the podium. “Thank you, Special Agent. I need everyone in this room and in this department to take what Special Agent Javier said with the utmost seriousness. Do not attempt to arrest Frank Castle on your own. All right, you’re dismissed.”  
We all began to leave the room when Javier called to Deb. “Excuse me, Lieutenant?”  
“Yeah, what?”  
“I wonder if I might have a word with you. In your office.”  
“Fine.”  
Deb then headed off to her office to meet with Javier. She said nothing to me as she went, but that scowl on her face told me that I should keep my distance. I remained in the squad room briefly, thinking over the situation. Here was a man, broken, born in blood, who lived by his own moral code and hunted the guilty. Where have I heard that before? When I first saw the photo of Frank Castle, I identified him as an alpha predator and potential competition. Perhaps I was only partially right; now I saw him as less an adversary and more a possible ally. Reaching out to him might be problematic; how do boogeymen contact each other? And if we did meet, would he have the same consideration for me and my dark passenger?

*

I was sitting at my work desk, looking into Stewart Hewitt – super wealthy money launderer who worked for super wealthy criminals, and murderer of hookers on the side. He kept a large bungalow in Miami Shores, near the country club. Naturally, he had a security system, but didn’t seem to have guards – at least he didn’t the last time I drove by. Now, however, with The Punisher around, he might be thinking about more protection.  
“More protection, Dexter?” My imaginary father, Harry, asked. “If he’s getting more protection, that might make it less safe for you to grab him.”  
“True. He might also be thinking about leaving town. That seems more likely than hiring guards.”  
“Why’s that?”  
“It’s cheaper and easier. Plus, if you told any potential security personnel they’d be facing off against The Punisher, how many would still be willing to protect you?”  
“Good point. But what if it’s you who encounters The Punisher?”  
“I’ll wear real good shoes. For running.”  
“I’m serious, Dexter. In the heat of battle, he might not be able to tell who is friend and who is foe.”  
“Well, I won’t be shooting at him, so, there’s that.”  
“This is serious, Dexter.”  
“You think I don’t know that?”  
At that moment, Deb came barging in. I quickly closed the browser on my computer. “Fucking FBI cocksuckers,” She snapped. I would have asked her what it was that made her so mad, but I didn’t need to as she launched right into it. “Okay, check this out: Fucking Special Agent Douchebag calls me into my own office, and right off, he tells me that I have a fucking reputation with the local FBI office. A reputation! I mean, what the fuck is this, fucking high school? Then he goes on to tell me that I have a bad attitude toward federal law enforcement. Well, of course I have a bad attitude, I mean, Jesus! You know goddamned well they’re a bunch of fucking glory hounds. We do the work, they take the credit, am I right? Then he basically comes right out and says that they still consider me responsible for what happened to Lundy. Fucking Javier had to bring that shit up!”  
“But you were not responsible for Lundy’s death, we all know that—”  
“Oh! And then that motherfucker has the gall to accuse me of having daddy issues. He actually fucking said that!”  
“I don’t think you have daddy issues—”  
“And then he attacked the department! He told me how we screwed the pooch on the Bay Harbor Butcher case! He said we should have known that there was a fucking psycho among our own! Well, how the fuck were we to know that Doakes was doing his own mini-Punisher thing? I mean, fuck!”  
“Just calm down, Deb—”  
“I am not going to calm down, Dex! In fact, you know what? Fuck Javier and his fucking G-men. We are going to bring Frank Castle in.”  
“Uh, wait. What?”  
“Earth to Dexter! I said, we are going to nail this vigilante motherfucker. He’s not going to shoot up our city with his personal fucking vendetta.”  
My sister just told me that she was going to take on The Punisher, practically by herself. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was concerned. Okay, make that scared. I was scared for her. “Deb, are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, taking on a psychotic soldier of fortune all by yourself?”  
“You heard Special Agent asshole! Castle doesn’t engage cops!”  
“And yet, he assaults them.”  
“Yeah, well, I’ll just do it smart. I won’t roll in like I’m fucking John Wayne or some shit like that. Just think: The first case of my career as Lieutenant. Now, how would that look on the old resume? ‘The woman – and yes, I would emphasize woman – who took down The Punisher’. I can just see the fucking mayor handing me the fucking key to the city and then, who knows? Maybe I’ll make chief!”  
“Okay, Lt. Delusions of Grandeur, how are you going to take down The Punisher? I mean, I hate to rain on your parade, but there has to be a practical element here, one that doesn’t end with you in the hospital or worse.”  
“Already on it. We talked to a few witnesses before the feds goose-stepped their way on the scene.” Deb handed me a manila envelope. “Check these names out. Look into their backgrounds, see what kind of prior involvements they have. I’m positive that one of these assholes saw something or knows something and didn’t tell the fucking FBI.”  
“It’s a long shot, don’t you think?”  
“We’ve solved cases on less. Come on, Dexter! Don’t you want a piece of the action?”  
I get more than enough action, all on my own. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell her that. I was going to be a good brother and employee and do what she asked, despite not really liking it. “Fine. I’ll do it because you’re my supervisor. But as your brother, I’m telling you, Deb, this is a bad idea.”  
“You know, I’m liking the lab geek Dexter a lot more than I’m liking my brother Dexter, right now.”  
“I said I’d do it. Why are you still standing there?”  
“Because I want it now, and I don’t want you telling me you found nothing!”  
“So, you don’t trust me?”  
“Fuck no. Not when I know you’re against this.”  
I sighed, then went ahead and did as Deb ordered. For the next hour, I checked the names on the list through local, state, and federal systems. Some had criminal records, which got me thinking that helping my sister with her insane plan might provide me with my next potential victim; that being said, most of the crimes were petty, and none of these people met the code. In fact, one of them had very little in the way of previous criminal involvement. “Huh, here’s something interesting; Isabel Santos.”  
“Isabel Santos? What’s interesting about her?”  
“She was a server at the Noche Azul. Her brother was a narcotics officer with the Fort Lauderdale police. He was killed a few months back in the line of duty. According to the report, it was a shootout between rival drug gangs.”  
“And don’t fucking tell me, one of the gangs was the Cervantes group, wasn’t it?”  
“Bingo. The others were members of an Irish mob centered out of New York City.”  
“New York City? That’s where Castle got his start. Motherfucker! I’ll bet it’s her.”  
“And checking through records, it gets even more interesting. I found an article about a Sergeant Isabel Santos, who returned to her home in Fort Lauderdale from an extended deployment with the Marine Corps.”  
“Oh, no fucking shit! Does it say what her assignment was?”  
“Military intelligence.”  
“Shut the fuck up! Intelligence? I’ll bet you a million fucking dollars that one of her assignments was that Operation Cerberus shit.”  
“That, of course, will require more digging—”  
“Fuck that. We have our girl, right fucking here. Thanks, Dexter! I fucking owe you!”  
“Yeah, so here’s what you owe me: don’t get killed.”  
“Jesus, Dexter, you’re worse than dad.”  
Little does she know.

*

I mentioned Deb’s quest to take down The Punisher to Angel and Quinn. Of course, they both tried to get Deb to back down, and of course, neither one was successful. When my sister gets an idea in her head, it’s impossible to get her to change her mind. They were even less happy when Deb mentioned that they’d be helping. Deb pulled Angel into helping her contact Ms. Santos at her local residence. When they returned to the office, Deb had another angry scowl on her face. “She fucking lied to us, Angel!” She spat. “She fucking lied!”  
“Deb, calm down,” Angel said. I don’t know why he said that. He knew her almost as well as I, and he knew that wouldn’t work. “We don’t have any proof that Isabel Santos ever knew this Frank Castle guy.”  
“They both served in Afghanistan, Angel!”  
“I know a lot of guys who served in Afghanistan. That doesn’t mean they knew each other.”  
“So, you think she was telling us the truth when she said she didn’t know him?”  
“I didn’t say that. No, I think she wasn’t being honest with us, but without proof—”  
“I’m gonna fucking surveil her ass. Quinn? You up for a little stakeout?”  
“Is that an order?” Quinn asked.  
“Fuck yes, that’s an order.”  
“Then I’m up for it.”  
Deb noticed me hovering around. “So? You got something to say, Dexter?” On one hand, watching Isabel Santos would keep Deb occupied while I took care of Stewart Hewitt. On the other hand, if Frank Castle showed up, it might not be good. “Well? Don’t just stand there and creep!”  
“I’m not creeping, I’m thinking.”  
“Let me guess: you think this is a bad idea.”  
“Well, you already know what I—”  
“Yeah, I do. So, go do something productive and let me take care of this.”  
I nodded. “Yeah.” Okay, Deb, I’ll take your advice and do something productive, like feeding Stewart Hewitt’s corpse to the aquatic life off the shore of Florida.

*

Jamie, my son Harrison’s sitter, is generally more than willing to stay late and watch him while I’m out taking part in my extracurricular activities. Tonight, she didn’t seem happy about it. “I was hoping to go out tonight,” She said.  
“Please? Just this once?”  
“It’s not ‘just once’, Dexter.”  
“It’s important.”  
“What is it?”  
“I’m meeting someone.”  
“Oh, is Dexter Morgan dating again?”  
Uh, yeah, sure. “You got me!”  
Jamie hugged me. “Oh, Dexter, I’m so happy for you! Who’s the lucky lady?”  
I ran into my bedroom to grab my bags. “It’s not a lady.”  
“Oh? Oh. Oh, okay. Hey, I’m not one to judge.”  
I’m glad for that. I’d much rather have her thinking I’m gay than thinking I’m a serial killer. “Oh, well, you know, it’s not really a ‘date’, so much, more like a guy’s night out, I guess. Thanks! I owe you!”  
Jamie just looked at me like a doe in headlights. I thought it best just to leave while I still had her good will, and before I had to come up with another awkward excuse.

*

Stewart Hewitt’s bungalow was only a bungalow in basic architectural terms. It was a large single-level house on a large piece of property, large enough to have a couple small outbuildings, which included a hobby shed and a pool with a large cabana. I previously checked for cameras – there were four, two in the front of the house and two at the back of the house. They seemed to be stationary, and none of them covered either the hobby shed or cabana, which made those decent choices for a kill room. However, there was an active motion-detection and intrusion system on the main house, which would make things interesting for me if I wanted to enter (the wonder of Dade County public records -- all alarm systems have to be checked to ensure they meet code, and guess who has access to those records?). As I lurked in the shadows of a palm grove across the street, I noticed a limousine pull up to the gated driveway. There I saw an opportunity. I made my way across the street, keeping to the shadows as is my usual practice, then snuck up on the limo. The driver stepped out of the vehicle and took his cellphone out. I had to act fast, and I had more than enough doses of M99 to spare.  
“Mr. Hewitt?” The driver said. “My name is Winston. I apologize, the usual driver was sick tonight. I do have the access code, it’s SH4440. Yes, please open the gate. Do you want me to come to the door? No? Very well, sir, I’ll remain in the car with the engine running.”  
The engine running. Hewitt was in a hurry to leave. Unfortunately for him, his escape was going to be delayed. I snuck up on the driver and hit him with a dose. He was a heavy-set man, but I was in good shape. I threw him in the backseat and removed his coat and driver’s cap. I then though I’d best make the scene look good. Conveniently, there was a mini-bar, and a couple of the bottles had already been opened. I just splashed a couple of drops from one of the bottles on the driver, then poured out a second on the floor next to him. When he came to, it would look as though he had too good a time on the limo company’s dime. The driveway’s gate opened at that time, so I made myself scarce. I listened as Hewitt approached the limo, talking to someone on his cellphone.  
“Yes, you’d best make sure that money is deposited with my banker in the Caymans, and you can tell him I’ll be coming to see him soon, so he better expedite it or he’ll learn the hard way not to fuck with me. Also, reach out to Sergei for me, tell him that the Cubans didn’t work out so well, so if the Russians want to deal again, I’m still open. Well, yes, dumbshit, you’ll have to tell them I’m out of the country for a while, at least until this Punisher bullshit dies down. Got it?” Hewitt dropped the phone into the pocket of his seersucker suit, then approached the limo. “Yo! Winston! Where the hell are you? We need to roll!”  
He looked into the driver’s side window. The keys were in the ignition, the engine was running, but there was no driver. “What, you taking a piss break now? Now is not the god damned time!”  
Hewitt then went to the passenger door. He threw the door open to find Winston passed out and reeking of booze. “What the hell? Jesus Christ, are you drunk? Hello? Well, if you are, that sure didn’t take long! You must be a real lightweight or something.”  
And boom. My needle was in Hewitt’s neck. Soon, the criminal financier would be cashed out of this life.

*

I chose the cabana instead of the hobby shack. It was smaller, which made covering it with plastic much quicker. Also, conveniently, there was a professional-grade massage table; now Stewart Hewitt was lying on it, covered in plastic, but he wasn’t going to get a massage. I hit his nostrils with smelling salts. “Wake up, Stewart,” I said. “Today isn’t going so well for you, is it?”  
“Who... who the fuck are you?”  
I loomed over him. “I’d say I’m your worst nightmare, but now, I think The Punisher is your worst nightmare. I’ll have to play second worst.”  
“What the fuck? What is this? Who are you?”  
I pointed to some pictures of young women posted on the plastic-draped walls of the cabana. “That’s Shaniqua Jones. She was taking care for her elderly grandmother, and the only way she could earn enough money to afford treatments for her was to work for an escort service, one frequented by rich scumbags like you.”  
“So what?”  
“The next one is Jillian Murphy. She was working her way through college. She wanted a better life for herself. And then she met you.”  
“Don’t know her!”  
“And the one on the end is Marilyn Nguyen. She was a single mother. Raising a child on your own is tough enough, I know that for sure; it’s tougher when you have to work any demeaning job you can in order to feed them. Well, I guess she doesn’t have that problem anymore, does she?”  
“What does any of that have to do with me?”  
“You killed them.”  
“No! Okay, maybe I went a bit overboard with the rough sex, but, Jesus! Give a guy a break!”  
“You didn’t give any of them a break. Why should I give you one?”  
“I’ll pay you!”  
“I’m not interested in blood money. I’m just interested in blood.”  
I cut Hewitt’s cheek and added his blood to my collection.  
“The hell was that? The hell are you?”  
“You thought Frank Castle was your biggest concern. Sorry. You’ll have to settle for me.”  
I took my knife and plunged it into Hewitt’s chest. 

*

Once more, I was on my boat, sending Hewitt to rest in pieces on the ocean floor, when I got a call on my cellphone. “Deb? Do you know what time it is?”  
“Don’t really give a shit, Dexter.”  
“What did you find out?”  
“That Santos is wily bitch, I’ll tell you that. She evaded our tail.”  
“Well, she was former military intelligence with the Marines.”  
“No fucking shit! But then, she contacted me. Freaked me the fuck out, I’m sitting in my car and there’s a fucking tap on the window. I mean, Jesus! Well, she passed me a note. Said she wants to meet tonight.”  
“She wants to meet? Tonight? Where?”  
“At an address in East Coral Gables. Some Cuban bakery.”  
“A Cuban bakery in East Coral Gables? I’m on it.”  
“Whoa, no, Dexter!”  
“What do you mean, no?”  
“I don’t need big brother Dexter to fucking bail me out!”  
“But Deb, this could be a trap!”  
“I don’t think so, Dexter!”  
“Even so—”  
“Just stay away, Dex. I’ll handle this. It’s just a meetup.”  
She hung up. I did not have a good feeling about this. The possibility – no, probability – that this was a trap was foremost in my mind.  
“Are you going, Dexter?” My imaginary father asked.  
“What do you think?”  
“I think it’s risky for both of you.”  
“You’re right. But why else would she have let me know where she was going if Deb herself didn’t consider the possibility that this was a set-up? What would you recommend, Harry?”  
“I’d recommend you get over to East Coral Gables. This is your sister and my daughter, and although I know she’s capable, she also tends to rush headlong first into trouble.”  
“I know that. That’s what scares me.”  
Fuck it, I was going to spy on my sister. I hope Jamie and Harrison both forgive me for being really late.

*

I knew the bakery. They make great pasteles. There was an alley behind the shop, right next to an old apartment building that had been closed for demolition. I hid in the old apartment building and watched and listened as Deb drove her department-issued Crown Victoria into the alley. A single female figure – Isabel Santos – had been standing in that alley. Deb got out of her car and approached Isabel. “Okay, what is it? I know you’re hiding something from me.”  
“You’re right,” Isabel said. “You asked if I knew Castle? Yeah, okay, I did.”  
“I knew you were fucking lying to me. How well did you know him?”  
“It wasn’t like that. Frank was married, you know, and he was always faithful to his wife. No, he was like a big brother to me. We were in Kandahar; I was assigned through SOCOM under Colonel Ray Schoonover. I was an intelligence analyst, so I never took part in any field ops, and I didn’t take direct part in any of Operation Cerberus, but I knew some things.”  
“Like what? What kind of things?”  
“It was a cover for something else. Something highly illegal. I didn’t say anything, but when Frank got wind that he was being used, I helped feed him information. I guess, in a way, I’m partially responsible for what happened to his family.”  
“I don’t care about that shit. I want to know what Frank Castle is doing in Miami.”  
“After my brother was murdered, files began appearing at my house. These looked official, like they came from some agency. These files were completely unredacted. They were like an ‘Idiot’s Guide’ to the Cervantes cartel. And so, I began checking them out. I got a job as a server at the Noche Azul, which was frequented by Benny Cervantes and his closest lieutenants. I then reached out to Frank. I heard what he had done in New York and was hoping he’d do it here.”  
“Why the fuck would you want that? Revenge? Because you wanted vengeance for your brother, you thought that bringing a psycho one-man army to Miami was a good idea?”  
“I wanted justice! I knew the system wouldn’t give me justice! Wait. That’s not entirely true.”  
“What? Why not?”  
“Because whoever leaked those files to me is obviously in the system. They wanted me to get justice. Why would this mysterious person want me to get justice?”  
“You never considered that? That’s a big fucking question!”  
“No! I just wanted… oh hell, you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have someone you love taken from you, and there was nothing you could do about it!”  
Actually, Deb did know what that was like. She knew it too well. “Yeah, well, the system is there for a reason, and if you give it a chance, it might come through for you.”  
“Yeah, Frank though you’d say that.”  
“Frank? Is Castle here?”  
“I was expecting to meet him, but he’s a no-show, so far. Then again, every cop and federal agent in the city is looking for him.”  
“Shit. Now I’ve got another mystery to solve, and that’s the identity of your mysterious benefactor.”  
“Tell me about it. I was in military intelligence, and I haven’t been able to find out.”  
“Yeah.” Deb handed Isabel her card. “I want you to call me if you find or hear anything, either from Castle or that mystery man.”  
“Why would I do that? So you can bust them?”  
“Castle is a fucking menace.”  
“Your opinion, I guess.”  
I’d been so intent on listening in on the conversation that the squeal of rubber on pavement caught me by surprise as a late 70’s model sedan roared into the alley way at full speed. I was not sure what I could do. I didn’t have time to warn Deb as the car first hit Isabel and then Deb. She had time to pull her Glock but not to get a shot off as she was thrown to the floor of the alley. Four men got out of the car, three of them with handguns and one with a shotgun. Deb, who was still conscious but obviously disoriented, tried to aim her Glock, but the man with the shotgun kicked it out of her hand then slammed the butt of his gun into her head, knocking her out. I could do nothing; I’d brought a syringe to a gunfight.  
“Who the bloody fuck is that?” One of them asked, in an Irish accent.  
“She’s a fucking cop,” Another Irish-accent man said.  
“Ah, Jesus. What about the Cuban cunt?”  
“She’s fucked-up like, but still breathing.”  
“That’s a wee problem, innit? Sean, put the bitch out of her misery.”  
“Aye,” Said a third man. He screwed a suppressor onto his pistol, went over to Isabel, then shot her once in the head. “Now what about the cop bitch?”  
“What do you fucking think, you gobshite? No bloody loose ends, right?”  
The man with the suppressed pistol then went over to Deb. I grabbed my cellphone out, knowing that I wouldn’t have time to get the cavalry. I was prepared to watch my sister die.  
“Oh, shite,” One of the men said. Before Sean could kill my sister, he lifted his head. Another figure entered from the opposite side of the alley. He was dressed entirely in black, with a bright white skull painted on his body armor and a semi-automatic combat shotgun in his hands. Without hesitation, The Punisher opened fire on the four Irish mobsters. Round after round of buckshot flew through the alley, dropping three of the men immediately. The fourth man tried to run but was hit low. He fell to the alley floor but was still able to drag himself toward the north entrance and away from his foe. The Punisher slung the shotgun over his shoulder then drew the large handgun from his thigh holster as he approached the last mobster. He kicked the mobster over so that he could face him. The mobster pointed his pistol at The Punisher, only to have it kicked from his hands.  
“Martin O’Donnell! It just ain’t your night, is it?” The Punisher asked. “Hey, remember your cousin, Finn Cooley?”  
“Aye, you fucking cunt,” Martin spat, “You murdered him!”  
“I blew his brains out with a 12-guage. Scattered his brains on the wall. It looked like a bowl of Irish stew someone threw out. Big fucking mess. I’ll tell you what, I won’t kill you with my shotgun.”  
“That’s mighty considerate of you.”  
“No, I’ll just use my .45. It’s only slightly cleaner.”  
The Punisher leveled his pistol at Martin O’Donnell’s head and put a bullet into it, killing him immediately. He then went over to Isabel and Deb.  
“Oh, goddamn it, Isabel,” He said. “You didn’t deserve this.” He then knelt by Deb and felt her neck for a pulse. “You’ll be okay. You’ll have the mother of all headaches when you wake, though. I’d stick around, but I hear sirens, so I have to go.”  
He was right. I heard them too. I didn’t have much time. I moved to the corner of the old apartment building and waited. And as Frank Castle hit the corner, my needle was in his neck.

*

I have experience wrangling unconscious people into cars, even if those people are larger than I and made of pure muscle. However, wrangling a large muscular man into my Ford Escape, along with his heavy-duty body armor, weapons, ammo, and gear was quite a challenge. I threw Castle into the backseat and covered him as best I could, then changed out of my long-sleeved Henley and into a colorful short-sleeve shirt (always prepared, since I do tend to make a mess), then headed back to the scene. Multiple cop cars had arrived, and the ambulance came soon after. I flashed my ID card to the officer and beelined to Deb, who was being checked out by a couple uniforms. She was already regaining consciousness. “Deb!” I cried. “Are you okay?”  
“Fuck no,” She groaned, “I feel like some fucker hit me in the head with the butt of a fucking shotgun. Wait, didn’t I fucking tell you to stay away?”  
“I couldn’t. I knew you were not safe.”  
“Oh, no shit, and what were you gonna do? Overwhelm these assholes with your knowledge of forensic science? There’s a reason I couldn’t have you involved in this, Dexter.”  
“Then why’d you call me?”  
“Because I trust you, asshole. You’re one of the few people who knows what I’m up to. I sure as hell don’t trust the fucking FBI. Also, because if something happened to me—”  
“If something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”  
“Likewise, you big dope. God damn it. I lost my fucking witness.”  
“Not your fault, Deb. Big men with guns killed her, not you. And then The Punisher killed those guys.”  
“Yeah, and I fucking missed him.”  
“But you have to admit that he probably saved your life.”  
“I don’t have to admit shit. God damn, it hurts to think.”  
“Well, the EMT’s are here, and they’ll take you to a hospital where I want you to do what the doctor tells you.”  
“Fuck off.”  
“I love you too. I’ll check in at the hospital – oh, wait. Jamie is still sitting Harrison. She is going to be pissed.”  
“Yes, she is. So, go be with your son and come to the hospital in the fucking morning. Hell, bring him along. Aunt Deb doesn’t get enough of her nephew.”  
“It’s a deal.”  
The EMT’s approached with a gurney. “All right, Lieutenant,” One of the EMTs said, “We’ll lift you onto the gurney—”  
“The fuck you will,” Deb replied. “I can get on that fucking gurney all on my own.”  
“That’s my sister,” I told the EMTs.  
*

I hit Frank Castle’s nostrils with the smelling salts. He came to rather quickly, and, understandably, unhappily. “What... what the fuck?” He growled. “What is this? Why am I wrapped in plastic, like I’m some kind of sandwich? Who the hell are you?”  
I put my finger to my mouth and shushed Castle. “Please, watch your tone. My son is asleep in the next room.”  
“Your son? Who are you? Oh wait. I know you. Yeah, I saw you at Hewitt’s place.”  
He did? “You did? How?”  
“I watched you through the scope of a rifle. I watched you take him out. I thought you were a pro, that maybe the Russians, or the Mexicans, or the Kitchen Irish sent you. Then I followed you. Yeah, I followed you to that cabana. I saw what you did to him.”  
“And did you have a problem with that?”  
“Hell no. I was going to do Hewitt myself, but after he and I had a conversation.”  
“Oh? A conversation? Is that what you call it? Sounds like a cheerful euphemism for ‘torture’.”  
“Whatever it takes to get the information I need. Just like, after I get out of this, you and I are going to have a conversation.”  
“We are having a conversation, Mr. Castle.”  
“Fuck you, you sick son of a bitch. Who are you doing this for? At least tell me before you kill me.”  
“First off, I’m doing this for me. I’m not working for anyone. Second, I didn’t bring you to my own apartment to kill you.”  
“Oh, yeah, with your kid next door. How old is he?”  
“My son isn’t any of your concern, right now.”  
Castle chuckled. “Sorry, I overstepped. No, my concern is getting out of this saran wrap and killing you, whatever your name is.”  
I stared Castle down, as void of fear as was he. “I told you, I am not going to kill you. You’re in that saran wrap, as you call it, for my protection. It was the only way I could arrange to meet you, what with every major law enforcement and criminal organization in South Florida looking for you.”  
“Oh, well, this is a real good way to gain my confidence. Wrap me up like leftovers, like you did to Hewitt, before you butchered him. Nice job disposing of the remains, by the way.”  
“Thank you, not that I need the criticism. Look, Frank – may I call you Frank?”  
“Hey, you’re the one in charge. But as long as we’re making nice, why don’t you tell me your name?”  
“That’s fair. My name is Dexter Morgan.”  
“And what are you, Dexter Morgan, other than being a sick son of a bitch?”  
“I work for Miami Metro Police homicide, in their crime lab. I’m a blood spatter analyst.”  
“That’s pretty specific.”  
“I like my job.”  
“The way you did Hewitt, I’d say you like that more.”  
“I can’t deny it. I found great pleasure in killing Stewart Hewitt.”  
“Why?”  
“He was a bad man. He killed people and got away with it. I could not ignore his crimes. Just like you cannot ignore the crimes you see around you. And that is why I brought you here. You and I have much in common, Frank.”  
“Oh, you think so?”  
“I know so. We are the same, Frank Castle. We are both broken. We were both born in blood. We both lost loved ones to murderers. We both live by a code.”  
“We are not the same!”  
“We are. It’s just that I use knives and power tools, and you use guns. And knives. And explosives. My way is quieter. Your way? Not so much.”  
“I do tend to get noticed.”  
“Which is why I do things my way. First rule of the code is ‘don’t get caught’.”  
“What code is that?”  
“My father’s code. I have lived by it for years. It has allowed me to do what I do best and survive in polite society.”  
Frank nodded. “I see. I think I can respect that.”  
“I hope you can, because I’m going on a little faith here.” I knew it was a risk, but it was a risk I had to take. I took my knife and began cutting away the plastic sheeting that held Frank Castle to a board on top of my bed. As soon as the plastic bonds began to relax, Castle moved. He lunged for the credenza, on top of which sat his Springfield long slide .45. He grabbed the pistol and pointed it at my head. “Okay, well, that didn’t go the way I hoped it would. And now I’ve got to say I’m disappointed, Frank. You see, that gun isn’t loaded. A trained operator like you should be able to tell when a gun isn’t loaded, just by the weight.”  
Frank did a quick press-check. “Son of a bitch. Oh well, I don’t need a gun to kill you.” He then tossed the gun onto the plastic-covered bed. I dropped my knife and put up my hands.  
“It’s just that I don’t like loaded guns, especially not with a young child in my house.” Frank did not approach, but instead stared me down. His deep, dark eyes sunk through me, as though he was looking for my soul. I then thought that if he was indeed seeing if I had a soul, he might be occupied for a while. “What kind of killer are you?”  
“The kind who has beer. Would you like a beer?”  
Frank nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

*

We sat out front of my apartment, as a gentle breeze blew in off the Atlantic, bringing a slight cool to the warm Miami night. The Punisher sat there, drinking his beer, as I sat beside him, drinking mine.  
“How the hell did you get the drop on me?” Castle asked.  
“Training and practice,” I replied. “Stealth is kind of my thing.”  
“I thought killing was your thing.”  
“It is my thing.”  
“Seriously, what are you? Some kind of vigilante?”  
“I guess. Some would label me a psychopath, and they’d be right.”  
“A psychopath raising a kid? How does that work?”  
“I don’t know. All I know is that I love that kid, and I’d give anything for him. In the same way I love my sister, whose life you saved tonight. Thank you for that, by the way.”  
“It’s what I do. Anyway, that doesn’t sound like a psychopath to me. That sounds like a man who has his priorities straight.”  
“I suppose I’m a different kind of psychopath. One who values life. Well, some life, anyway. And what about you, Frank Castle? Many would label you a psychopath as well, just like me.”  
“I’d like to think of it as a highly-developed sense of honor.”  
“A code.”  
“Yeah, I guess. There are just some sons of bitches who don’t deserve the benefits of breathing. You can ask me how I judge, I really don’t. They’ve judged themselves, by their actions.”  
“And you are just their Punisher.”  
“Catchy title. Mind if I use it?”  
I had to chuckle at that. “One thing I didn’t imagine you’d have is a sense of humor.”  
“Sometimes you just gotta laugh at how fucked up life is, you know? Like, it’s not long after 9/11, and I’m all gung-ho about getting some payback. I learned I’m pretty damned good at that.”  
“Marine Force Recon? I assume you had to be.”  
“Ooh-rah. Anyway, I kill some Jihadis and I’m an American hero. Then I return here to a war that’s been going on for years. I kill some of those bastards and now I’m a villain. Go figure.”  
“I’m no hero. I never wanted to be a hero.”  
“Oh yeah? I guarantee you, when that boy of your looks at you, you’re a goddamned hero to him.”  
“You think so?”  
“I know so.” Frank lifted his beer. “To the kids!”  
I clinked my bottle with his. “To the kids.”  
Castle took a swig. “So, here’s an obvious question: Why’d you bring me here? I assume it wasn’t to drink beer and shoot the shit.”  
“How do monsters network?”  
“Huh? Is that some kind of joke?”  
“Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that I felt the need to reach out to you. Perhaps collaborate—”  
“Whoa, no. I don’t collaborate, and I don’t need a partner or a sidekick.”  
“I wouldn’t be the sidekick. I don’t know, haven’t you ever felt the need for someone to get you? To understand you?”  
“Plenty of people understand me. Some of them understand me all too well.”  
“Okay, then maybe I can help you track down Isabel Santos’ killers. I mean, the people behind her death.”  
“Is that right?”  
“It is. My sister, the woman whose life you saved tonight, is a lieutenant with Miami Metro.”  
“No shit? Seems kind of young for a police lieutenant.”  
“She just got promoted. She thinks it’s a political ploy, but the fact is she’s more than capable. Anyway, that’s not relevant. What is relevant is that she is looking for you. That’s why she was speaking to Santos. While they were speaking, I overheard some interesting stuff—”  
“Like the files she’d been getting.”  
“Oh, well, I see you already know about those.”  
“Yeah, but what I don’t know is how she got them. Obviously, there’s someone who knows both of us.”  
“Yes, someone in a law enforcement or intelligence agency. Did you ever stop to consider who might be behind it?”  
“Believe me, it crossed my mind. The intel was good, though, so I used it.”  
“’Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.”  
“Yeah, something like that. Why?”  
“My lizard brain is telling me that someone is using you.”  
“You don’t think I didn’t consider that? Hey, whoever it is, then our interests are also aligned. Cervantes killed a good man, and a friend of mine needed justice. I was more than happy to help out.”  
“I don’t have a problem with that. My only question is why. Why did this unknown benefactor help? If that person was supplying you information through Santos, then maybe they were the one behind Santos’ death. Hear me out: Santos was talking to the cops. There would be an investigation into these leaks. If the police found the leaker, they’d be done for, and whatever it was they were involved with would also be exposed. They had to silence Santos.”  
“God damn it, you’re right, Morgan.”  
“I can help you hunt this unknown benefactor down. I do have access to intelligence at Miami Metro Homicide, you know.”  
“Why would you want to help me? What do you get out of it?”  
“I understand what you’re doing, Frank. We can clean up Miami together, you and me.”  
“I told you, I don’t collaborate.”  
“I know you don’t play well with others, and quite frankly, neither do I. At the very least, let me support your mission, and just maybe throw my sister off your trail.”  
“She’s a good one?”  
“The best, which is why you’ll need my help.”  
“All right, fine. But I have to do things my way.”  
“Understood. And I have to do things my way.”  
Castle nodded. “You know, I think you’re a sick freak, Morgan.”  
“I’m not going to debate that.”  
“But I think I can trust you.”  
“I appreciate that. I also appreciate you not killing me.”  
“Yeah, well, I’m still pissed about the plastic wrap. I better go in and get my gear before your kid wakes up.”  
“I’d appreciate that. I don’t like guns in the house with a little one around.”  
Castle rose. “Like I said, priorities, right?”  
“Priorities.”  
“I’ll contact you later.”  
“All right. I’ll give you my number.”

*

Before I want in to work, I stopped by the hospital to visit Deb, as I said I would, with Harrison in tow. When I arrived at her room, she was already getting dressed. “Deb?” I asked, “What are you doing?”  
“The fuck does it look like? I’m getting dressed, then I’m getting the fuck out of here.”  
“Wait, is the doctor okay with that?”  
“Who gives a fuck? I’ve got a job to do. I’ve got to track down The Punisher, and whoever it was that set Isabel Santos up, and who fed her the information on Cervantes. Jesus! I guess my work is cut out for me, and I can’t do it laying around.”  
“Yeah, fine, but what did the doctor say?”  
“I got a few bruised ribs, and they hurt like a motherfucker, and my entire left side is fucking purple, but at least I don’t have a concussion.”  
“And you’re alive, thanks to Frank Castle.”  
“Yeah, whatever. I’m still taking that fucker down.”  
I noticed some flowers on the bedside table. “Some of the guys must have stopped by to see you.”  
“Well, yeah. Angel brought the flowers, and LaGuerta stopped by and said some bullshit about how brave I was, then Quinn stopped by. I mean, Jesus Christ, I thought he was going to cry.”  
“Yeah, well, he still has feelings for you—”  
“Huh-uh! Do not fucking go there.”  
“I won’t!”  
“Good. And then, Javier stopped by.”  
“Special Agent Javier?”  
“Yeah, Special Agent Douchebag himself. He heard I met with Santos last night and wanted to see if I was all right.”  
“That was mighty nice of him.”  
“Yeah, a little too nice. He wanted to know what Santos and I talked about.”  
“Did you tell him?”  
“Fuck no. I told him I was not at liberty to discuss the matter.”  
“Really? Just like that?”  
“I know, right? Ordinarily I would have just told him to go fuck himself.”  
“And he left it at that?”  
“Yeah. I wasn’t happy about it but fuck him. Anyway, I got to get going. So do you.”  
“Oh, yeah, I was just going to drop Harrison off at Jamie’s on my way to work.”  
“Then get going. Oh, sorry!” Deb approached Harrison and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “You know aunt Deb loves her Harrison, I’m just in too much pain to hold you today, okay?”  
“I’m sure he understands. I’ll see you at the station.”  
I then left the room. As I entered the hall, my cellphone rang. I managed to wrangle the phone from my pocket, even as I was holding my son in my other arm. The caller ID read “unknown number”. I answered it. “Hello?”  
“Hey, I just wanted to see how your sister was doing.”  
“Frank? Why are you calling me now?”  
“Like I said, checking on your sister.”  
“She’s headed to work now. Why?”  
“Headed to work? I gotta hand it to her, she’s tough. She kind of reminds me of a lady I know back in New York. She’s a reporter, not a cop, though.”  
“Yeah, well, she still wants to see you behind bars.”  
“I get that.”  
“Anyway, she didn’t have anything to say, yet. She’s already had a string of visitors today. Even that FBI agent she hates came by.”  
“FBI agent?”  
“Yeah, the FBI is looking for you, too.”  
“Tell me something I don’t know.”  
“Anyway, this guy, Special Agent Javier, asked her about—”  
“Wait a minute. What was that name again?”  
“Javier. Saul Javier.”  
Castle paused. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his thick head. “Javier. Javier. That name rings a bell.”  
“Where have you heard it before?”  
“Not sure. I’ll look into it and get back to you.”  
“Okay, but don’t you—” And he hung up. Castle wasn’t the best communicator I ever ran across, but then, neither am I. Something about the name Saul Javier got his attention. I realized this couldn’t be good, and if Javier want to know what Deb knew, he might be doing so under false pretenses. The thought nagged at my lizard brain as I dropped my phone back into my pocket and headed to Harrison’s sitter.

*

It wasn’t long after I got to the crime lab that I got a second call from Castle. I made sure that Vince was securely away in his lab room doing whatever he was doing (it being Vince Masuka, I probably didn’t want to know anyway) before I answered. “Two calls in a row? I don’t Frank, people might start to talk.”  
Frank snorted. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny, blood spatter man. Anyway, I checked a few of my old files and talked to a couple old buddies and it got my memory jogged.”  
“Yeah, and?”  
“Javier was in Afghanistan.”  
“Oh, really?”  
“Yeah. Various enforcement agencies of the federal government had representatives in country for various purposes, from hunting down fugitive terrorists to training local police. They were also involved in intelligence operations. Javier was one of a couple agents who were assigned to Operation Cerberus.”  
“Let’s get this straight: The FBI actually assigned agents to work on Cerberus?”  
“A couple. I talked to one of them, a lady named Miller. She was concerned about one of the other agent’s relations with a guy we knew as Agent Orange. That guy was bad news; his real name was Rawlins. He was with the CIA, and he was running Cerberus as a front for all sorts of illegal shit. He was the guy behind the murders of my family.”  
“I take it you took care of him?”  
“I sent his ass to hell. Anyway, Miller wanted to meet with me since she found out, probably through Santos, that the shit Cerberus was doing didn’t sit well with me. She never made it to the meet; official cause of death was an IED. But I’ll bet you a goddamned million dollars that IED wasn’t set by any Al-Qaeda or Taliban type.”  
I rubbed my temple. “This is deep, Frank, real deep.”  
“It goes straight up the chain, all the way to the CIA. The CIA seemed to be glad I got rid of Rawlins for them. I thought they’d be covering for me; apparently their word ain’t worth shit.”  
“If Javier was there, then he definitely knows something. Hell, he may be the reason why you’re in Miami.”  
“Son of a bitch. He’s the one who drew me here, but why? What’s his game?”  
“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s to help take a bite out of crime.”  
“Neither do I.”  
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t leave us much to go on.”  
“You mean ‘me’. That doesn’t leave me much to go on.”  
“You’re right, of course. Look, I’ll see if my sister can look into Javier—”  
Right at that time, my sister came barging into my lab. “What’s that about Javier?” She asked. I quickly hung up the phone.  
“That was a contact with the FBI crime lab. I wanted to see if they had anything that might help us with The Punisher. I can see you’re feeling better.”  
“I feel like warmed-over shit. But yeah, if the FBI crime lab geeks have anything, I’d be interested in seeing it.”  
“So, what did you come in here for? Just to show me you were able to make it?”  
“You think some mobsters running me over will stop me? Fuck, Dexter, you know me. No, I was here to run something by you. Tell me what you think and please, be straight with me.”  
That was a loaded statement: be straight with her? I can think up convincing lies on the fly, and make them sounds reasonable, like I just did. Being ‘straight’ is not necessarily in my wheelhouse. “Of course, Deb.”  
“Before Santos was killed, she told me she was being fed info. Classified files, like the kind we, or some other, fucking police agency might have access to.”  
“Or the FBI.”  
“Yeah, or the fucking FBI. Which is why Javier came to the hospital to talk to me.”  
“You think he was pumping you for information?”  
“Fuck yeah, only I didn’t tell him shit.”  
“You didn’t tell him about the files.”  
“What’d I just say? Fuck no, I didn’t tell him about the files... oh, shit.”  
“’Oh, shit’ what?”  
“What if it was Javier who was feeding Santos the files?”  
“An FBI agent giving confidential information on criminal enterprises in the city of Miami to a citizen who knows Frank Castle personally? I don’t know Deb, don’t you think that’s kind of far-fetched?”  
“We’ve both been through enough far-fetched shit to know that far-fetched doesn’t mean shit. I mean, come the fuck on, Dexter! Javier is dirty. I know that motherfucker is dirty. Every bit of cop’s intuition in me is telling me that Javier is fucking dirty.”  
“Okay, then you know what dad would tell you: follow your gut. He’d also tell you not to do anything stupid.”  
Deb shot me that blank stare that told me I probably should not have said what I just said. “Jesus Christ, Dex, seriously?”  
“I mean it. If Javier is dirty, then you could be in serious trouble.”  
“You think he’s as dangerous as The Punisher?”  
“More dangerous. At least I know Frank Castle wouldn’t shoot you.”  
“And how do you know that?”  
“His reputation, of course.”  
“Yeah, sure. Anyway, my curiosity is off the fucking charts. I’m going to check with LaGuerta and see if we can look into Javier.”  
“You think she’ll support that?”  
“I doubt it, but what choice do I have?”  
“Well, good luck with that.”  
“Okay. I’ll talk to LaGuerta and let you get back to doing lab geek shit.”  
Deb then left the room. Her interest in Javier would throw her off Castle’s trail, at least for now. I was content that I’d held up my side of the bargain with him. However, I wasn’t sure what was worse, pursuing a corrupt federal agent or pursuing The Punisher. Neither was optimal, and neither was safe.  
It was a few minutes later when Deb came sailing into my office, slamming the door behind her. “Son of a bitch!” She spat.  
“Let me guess: LaGuerta said no.”  
“She said, in no uncertain fucking terms, that I was not to investigate Javier. She said it would be a waste of time and manpower, especially considering that The Punisher is in town. She then said I didn’t have enough evidence of wrongdoing to warrant looking into the mother fucker. Of course, I told her that’s why I wanted to check him out, to get some evidence. And she still said no, that it would ‘look bad’. Fuck looking bad, if Javier is dirty, he needs to go down.”  
“She offered no other recourse?”  
“She said I could try contacting the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility, but they’d need more evidence too. And they’d probably take their sweet fucking time.”  
“So, in other words, she blew you off.”  
“Fucking right.”  
I knew she wouldn’t let that stop her. Deb is not easily discouraged. “So, what are you going to do?”  
“Oh, I’m still going to look into Javier, I’m just going to do it off the books.”  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  
“It’s a fucking shitty idea. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it.”  
“Okay, how? How are you going to investigate Javier when the Captain says not to? You can’t involve Angel or Quinn. You’re going to be on your own.”  
“Then I’ll fucking do it on my own.”  
I couldn’t let her do it on her own, of course. I knew my sister was more than capable of standing on her own merits but investigating Javier might be a little more dangerous than she, or anyone else, was capable of handling. I, however, am quite used to investigating evil doers on my own and have done so very successfully. I have several blood slides that affirm this. I don’t know if Javier meets the code, but right now, I’m more concerned about Deb. “You won’t need to do it on your own.”  
“What? Are you talking about backing me up?”  
“I am.”  
“Whoa. No, Dexter, no fucking way.”  
“Why not? Deb, you need someone to back you up.”  
“I don’t want you to get involved in this, Dexter.”  
“I already am involved, Deb. I can help with surveillance equipment, audio recording, photography, you know, whatever you need. And you won’t be alone in this.”  
“It’s too fucking dangerous, Dex! I can’t risk losing you!”  
“You won’t lose me, Deb.”  
“Fine. Then I can’t risk any potential blowback I might get. If I get busted for this, so will you.”  
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just say I was acting under the orders of my superior.”  
“That wasn’t fucking funny, Dex.”  
“You thought I was joking? I was totally serious.”  
Deb nodded. “Okay, fuck it. I’ll let you throw me under the bus. But You still need to be careful.”  
“Does that mean I’m in?”  
“Jesus Christ. Yes, Dexter, you’re in. Looks like it’s the Morgan kids to the rescue.”  
“Good. I’ll get the surveillance equipment.”  
“Where? From the equipment room? You know you have to sign for it!”  
“I know. I have ways. It’s probably best you didn’t know that.”  
“Fine. Jesus. You ‘have ways’. You’re right; I don’t fucking want to know. Anyway, meet me in the lot after work and we’ll plan this out. Okay?”  
“Got it.”  
Deb then left my lab. I did have ways of getting departmental equipment without going through ‘proper channels’, but I wasn’t about to divulge all my secrets to Deb – and I really didn’t want to fill her in about our ‘silent partner’, also known as The Punisher. 

*

I was waiting in the lot, next to Marty’s food truck, when my phone rang. “Hi, Frank,” I said as I answered the call.  
“How’d you know it was me?” Castle asked.  
“You’re getting predictable. I think I got my sister off your case, for now.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah. Now she’s going to look into Javier.”  
“She managed to convince her superiors to look into that son of a bitch?”  
“Actually, no. She’s doing it on her own.”  
Castle hesitated before responding. “That’s not a good idea.”  
“I know, which is why I’m backing her up.”  
“I’ve been thinking about this: If Javier was working with Operation Cerberus, then he’s extremely dangerous.”  
“Don’t you think I’ve considered that? I told you about Deb, she’s like a dog with a bone. She won’t let this go, and I encouraged it. If something happens—”  
“Yeah, I get it, Morgan. Tell you what, I’ll give you the number to my burner phone. Do not write it down, and don’t put it in your phone. Can you do that?”  
“I’ve got a decent memory.”  
As Castle was giving me his number, Deb walked up to me. “Hey, did you get the stuff?” She asked. “’Did you get the stuff’. Jesus. I sound like I’m doing a fucking drug deal.”  
I hung up on Castle. “Yeah. I got a couple micro listening devices and a parabolic microphone with a couple remote earbuds, so we can both listen in.”  
“Good. I’m gonna head for the FBI HQ and see if I can intercept Javier, then I’m gonna follow him. I’ll let you know where we’re headed but keep your distance. You don’t want him to make you.”  
It was rather cute, my sister giving me advice on how to pursue my prey. I didn’t need it, but I did not wish to appear ungrateful. “Thanks, Deb. I’ll try my best.”  
“There is no fucking ‘try’, Dex.”  
“Okay, foul-mouthed Yoda, I’ll do it.”  
Deb flashed a smile at me. “That’s better. And really, ‘foul-mouthed Yoda’?”  
“I apologize. You’re not wrinkled and green.”  
“And don’t you fucking forget it!”  
Deb went to get her car and I called Castle back. “It’s on,” I said, “Deb is going to follow Javier and maybe even listen in on him, which I know is illegal, but I’m not one to judge. I’ll keep you updated with what we find out.”  
“Received and understood,” Castle replied. I had to appreciate his military bluntness.

*

Javier kept late hours that night. Deb located him just outside the FBI headquarters, talking on his cellphone to some unknown party. She couldn’t use the parabolic mic at that time, so she couldn’t tell me anything about the conversation. She followed him to the MacArthur Causeway to Watson Island, then to the Port Miami Tunnels over to Dodge Island. They ended up driving past the cruise lines toward the commercial container ship operations area, where they stopped. Deb parked far down the street from the container ship dock; I parked a few more blocks down and advised Castle that we’d arrived.  
“I’m almost there,” He said.  
“Uh, I’m hoping you don’t make your usual grand entrance.”  
“If Javier’s dirty I’m taking him down.”  
“Fine, but first, let us determine whether or not he’s actually dirty, then he’s all yours.”  
“You know, I don’t need your permission, but I’ll wait until you get something. Then again, if you don’t get something, I guarantee I will.”  
“I don’t doubt that.”  
After Castle hung up, I called Deb. “Motherfucker!” She answered, which, since it was Deb, didn’t throw me. “I’m glad turned off the ring tone on this fucker!”  
“Yeah, well, so am I. Where are you?”  
“I’m near the dock. I’m on a truck loading dock and behind a dumpster. I’ve got eyes on Javier and I’ve got the parabolic mic ready to go.”  
“Good, I didn’t mean to—”  
“Shut the fuck up! There’s a gold-colored car, a Lexus, I think, pulling up. Oh, wait, there’s a big-assed SUV, a Suburban, I think. Some guys are getting out. Okay, hang up with me and listen in.”  
I did so. The conversation Deb caught was most enlightening.  
“Sergei!” Javier said, “My friend, how are you?”  
“I am not your friend,” A Russian-accented voice responded.  
“Is that why you brought the extra firepower? Because you don’t trust me? I am a federal agent, after all.”  
“Da, and you think I give a shit about that?”  
“Fair enough. I just thought we should meet in person.”  
“Why? Why the fuck do you think I’d want to meet with you? Do you not realize how dangerous that is?”  
“Sergei! Is that any way to treat the man who just gave you the City of Miami?”  
“Ah, yes. The Punisher, da? He did eliminate our biggest rivals.”  
“He did, and now that Cervantes and the Irish are out of the way, you are set to inherit the lion’s share of the heroin trade in Dade County. You have me to thank for that.” There was a brief silence before Javier continued. “Well, don’t everybody thank me at once!”  
“Okay, fine! What do you want, Javier?”  
“What do you think? You have a bigger slice of the pie, so it goes to reason that so should I. I’m renegotiating the terms of our arrangement. I want a full twenty-five percent.”  
I heard a second Russian voice speak. I didn’t know what he said, but he didn’t sound happy. Sergei answered him, again in Russian. Sergei then laughed.  
“Twenty-five percent?” Sergei asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”  
“I’m not laughing, and neither should you.”  
“You’re fucking insane! Twenty-five percent!”  
“Of gross profits. Look, I am putting my ass on the line, my career on the line, and I need to be compensated for the risks I’m taking. Hey, you guys are going to be rolling in shitloads of money. Twenty-five percent will still leave you with more than enough money to buy vodka and borscht.”  
“I don’t know. We’re in Miami. Here, we buy rum and rice and beans.”  
“Well, that’s cheaper! See? You’re saving money!”  
“You think you can bring me here to insult me like this? Twenty-five percent!”  
“I brought The Punisher here. I fed him the info on the Cubans and the Irish. I’ll feed him info about you.”  
“You can’t! Your contact is dead!”  
“One of my contacts is dead, and that’s because she was about to turn over on me. Don’t you turn over on me, Sergei.”  
Javier had Santos murdered, and almost got my sister killed in the process. The Irish may have pulled the trigger, but Javier made the call. That was good enough for me; Javier was now a worthy candidate for my table. That’s where he’d most likely end up, especially considering that what Deb and I were doing wasn’t actually legal. My phone buzzed; it was Deb.  
“Did you hear that, Dex? Did you fucking hear that? Javier basically copped to having Santos fucking murdered! I am going to nail his fucking ass if it’s... oh, shit.” I heard the sounds of a struggle and Russian-accented shouting.  
“Deb? Deb? What’s going on?” I shouted into my phone, but there was no answer. They caught Deb. I knew this was a bad idea. The only plan I had was to call Castle. “Frank! Frank! They have my sister! They have Deb! I’m going to go... oh shit.”  
I found myself staring down the barrel of an AK47 in the hands of a Russian mobster. I slowly raised my hands. I’m pretty good at deceiving and distracting people, then moving in for the kill, so I cast my eyes down, as though I was submitting. I was actually sizing up my prey and determining the best course of action. However, the arrival of a couple more armed gangsters made me reconsider my previous course of action.  
“You! You come with us!” Said the thug with the AK in broken English. A second man came up from behind me; I felt the barrel of a pistol at the small of my back.  
“Who were you talking to?” The man asked. “Tell me, and don’t fucking lie!”  
“I was ordering a pizza,” I replied. The kick to my shin told me that I perhaps should not antagonize this guy.  
“Did that hurt?” The asshole asked. “The next time you give us bullshit answers like that, I will break your shin. Is that understood?”  
“Yeah! Geez, you guys sure take this stuff seriously!”  
They escorted me to the dock. Deb was standing there with her hands up. “Well, well,” Javier said, “This is a family reunion, isn’t it? You are Lieutenant Morgan’s brother, aren’t you?”  
“Don’t say shit, Dexter!” Deb snarled. One of the thugs drove the butt of his AKM into Deb’s gut, dropped her to the ground. “Motherfucker!” She said, as she held her stomach in pain.  
“Please, don’t do that again,” I said. “She has bruised ribs!”  
“Dexter Morgan?” Javier asked. “I thought you were just a lab tech, a CSI type.”  
“I’m a blood spatter analyst.”  
“Ah. Well, we have no need for your services, so you can go.”  
“What? Really?”  
“Fuck no, you moron. Jesus! You are gullible!”  
“Let him go,” Deb said, “I made him do this. Just let him go.”  
“You’re not in any position to make demands of me, Lieutenant. Hey, Sergei?”  
Sergei stepped forward. I finally recognized him: Sergei Nabokov. He was a well-known dirtbag in the Dade County metro area. He wasn’t on my personal radar, but he probably should have been. “What, Javier?” Sergei asked.  
“You still have that office here?”  
“You are standing in front of it. It’s expensive, and your demand for more money isn’t going to help us afford the rent.”  
“Cry me a fucking river. Let’s get these two inside. I guess the family that does illegal surveillance together dies together, huh?”  
They shoved Deb and I into the office. The facility was rather barren without much in the way of décor or creature comforts. I suppose it would be a great place for a kill room. “What do you think they’re going to do to us?” I asked Deb.  
“They’re going to throw us into Biscayne Bay, after they shoot us. Well! You fucking asked! I’m sorry, Dex. This is all my fault. All my fucking fault.”  
“No, it’s not. You were doing what you felt was right. If it was anyone’s fault, it’s mine. After all, I did encourage you.”  
“You’re just being a good brother, which you are.”  
“No, I’m not. I’m not good, Deb.”  
“Well, you’re better than me, and I feel pretty fucking shitty right now.”  
They pushed us into a moderately-sized but empty room. There was a load-bearing pillar in the middle of the room, to which they tied Deb and I with a long length of hemp rope. Javier then motioned for the guards to move aside. He approached Deb first.  
“What does Miami Metro know?” He asked.  
“You think I’m going to tell you shit, Javier? I’m only going to tell you one thing, you corrupt fuck stick: you can kiss my ass.”  
“It’s a nice ass, Debra. May I call you Debra? Doesn’t matter; I will anyway. So, yes, I’d like to kiss your ass.” Deb spat right in Javier’s face. He wiped the spittle with his jacket sleeve. “Gross. Yeah, that’s the kind of manners I’d expect from you, although I don’t know why. You like older men, or at least that’s what they say at the FBI office. I mean, Frank Lundy was no spring chicken, am I right? Let’s face it, you were going to outlive that elderly choirboy anyway. Trinity’s daughter did you a favor.”  
“Fuck you, you piece of shit.”  
“Javier,” I said, “That’s a low blow, don’t you think?”  
“Oh, and Dexter Morgan,” Javier said, “I know about you, how you rescued your sister from the Ice Truck Killer. Speaking of which, you have real shitty choices in men, Debra.”  
“Fucking fuck your fucking self!” Debra roared.  
“Three ‘fucks’ in a row? Impressive. Most impressive. Anyway, Dexter Morgan. You don’t seem to be fazed by this. Why is that?”  
“I’m just very centered,” I responded.  
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of creepy.”  
“You’re not the first person to mention that.”  
“Hey, Sergei?”  
“Da, Javier?” Sergei responded.  
“How do you want to handle this?”  
“Kill them.”  
Javier shrugged. “Okay. It’s your call.”  
“We do the work, and you get twenty-five percent?”  
“That’s how it works.”  
“At least you give us ideas, da? How we dispose of them?”  
I had a few ideas. They were usually pretty good ones. Of course, I wasn’t about to divulge that. “I don’t fucking know, Sergei! Just take care of this, would you?”  
“Fine.”  
Sergei drew a pistol from his coat and pointed it at Deb. “No!” I cried. “You don’t want to do that!”  
“No, but is business.”  
“No! I mean, the blood spatter patterns would indicate that we were executed at close range, plus, you’d have blood spatter on you, which would be a bitch to clean off completely, then the GSR test would indicate gunshot residue on your hands, which—”  
“I don’t give a shit.”  
“I’m saying there are better ways!”  
“Dex!” Deb cried, “Jesus Christ, don’t give the cocksuckers pointers!”  
“I’m trying to save our lives!”  
“Oh, you’re doing a great fucking job at that. You know what? Fuck it.” She then stared Sergei down. “If you’re gonna kill us, then fucking do it. Do it, you Commie piece of shit!”  
“I’m no Communist,” Sergei said. “But since you asked nicely, I’ll do it.”  
There was a loud bang. It wasn’t Sergei’s pistol; no, this was a lot larger than a pistol shot and was coming from outside. I could tell this was an explosive device by its volume and reverberation. Javier peeked through the blinds. “Jesus H. Christ!” Javier cursed, “You just lost your Suburban! And some of your men!”  
Sergei lowered the pistol and ran over to the window. “What the---!” I could see from my angle that the color drained from Sergei’s face and his eyes grew wide. “It is him!” Sergei grabbed the walkie talkie from his pocket and shouted Russian commands into it. Bursts of full-automatic weapons fire and screams of wounded and dying men were the only responses.  
“But how?” Javier shouted. He then pointed at me. “You! You brought him here!”  
“Me?” I responded. “How? I don’t know the guy!”  
“No, motherfucker,” Deb said, “You brought him here when you fed that info to Isabel Santos. You brought him here, you corrupt cocksucker!”  
Javier shrugged. “Yeah, I probably should have considered that. Oh well. I gotta run!”  
Javier then flew toward the rear of the office and out the backdoor. “God damn it!” Sergei said. “He runs like a bitch! But we are not afraid, are we, men?”  
There were four other Russians in the room. They all nodded. “No, tovarisch, we are not afraid!” One of them said.  
“Good! Then go kill that son of a bitch!”  
They all looked at each other. “Oh, do you mean us?”  
“Yes, god damn it, I mean you! Now! What are you waiting for!”  
Without further consideration, the four men rushed out the door, handguns drawn and blazing. The door shut behind them. Loud bursts of rifle fire echoed against the concrete walls of the office. The door opened again, and one of the men, blood staining his suit, dragged himself inside, pleading with someone who was just outside of my vision. “Nyet, nyet, nyet!” He kept saying. He was answered with a bullet to his head. It was then that The Punisher entered the room, the long slide .45 in his hand. Sergei tried to grab Deb but was unable to use her as a shield. He still pointed his pistol at her head.  
“What are you doing, you dumbass?” Deb growled. “That ain’t going to fucking work!”  
Sergei ignored her, and instead addressed The Punisher. “We can negotiate!”  
“No, we can’t,” Frank Castle said as he raised his pistol and fired. The single .45 round entered Sergei’s head and sprayed brains and blood from a large exit wound, some of which hit Deb. “Negotiations have ended.”  
Deb was unfazed by the gore that now decorated her cheek and by the body that lay at her feet. “So, it’s you, isn’t it?” She asked. Castle drew his Ka-bar and cut the bonds that held my sister and me. He then turned to leave. Deb grabbed Sergei’s Glock and pointed it at Castle.  
“Stop, you motherfucker!” Deb said. Castle turned to face her.  
“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Castle replied.  
“Deb,” I pleaded, “Lower the gun. He saved our lives. Maybe we should be grateful.”  
Castle shrugged. “Whatever. If you’re gonna shoot, then shoot. Otherwise, I’ve got a job to do.”  
He stood there briefly before walking out of the office. Deb lowered the gun. “Son of a bitch,” She said, “I had him. I had that motherfucker dead to rights, and I let him get away.”  
“Discretion is the better part of valor,” I said. “I mean, he did save our lives.”  
“Yeah, but now he’s free to do God knows what. And I just let him go.”  
“No one needs to know that. It will be our secret. But for now, I think we should get out of here before the police come. Our being here will be kind of hard to explain.”  
“Okay, but the gear—”  
“I’ll collect it. You get out of here.”  
Deb nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for having my back, bro.”  
“I will always have your back, Deb.”

*

I did gather the surveillance equipment, as I told Deb I would, and get it in my car before a dozen Miami police cars responded with lights and sirens blazing. I ducked in the front seat of my small SUV and waited. Apparently, no one noticed me. I then drove away from the scene, but before I could reach the tunnel, my cellphone rang again.  
“Thank you, Frank,” I said, “My sister wouldn’t say it, but you do have my gratitude.”  
“I got something else. I got Javier.”  
“Is he—”  
“He’s alive, for now. A bit beat up and unconscious, but alive.”  
“What are you going to do with him?”  
“I thought I’d give him to you.”  
Was the Punisher willing to share a kill with me? The thought was intriguing, to say the least. I was in the mood for a kill, and Javier deserved to be on my table. “Okay, sure.”  
“Where do you want to meet?”  
“I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”

*

When Special Agent Saul Javier awoke, he was wrapped in plastic on a dining room table. In fact, the entire dining room was wrapped in plastic, because that is how I do things. I don’t like to leave evidence behind; as a crime scene investigator, I know better. It is what my father, Harry, taught me. “Where... where the fuck am I?” Javier asked.  
“You should recognize this place,” I said, “After all, you’ve visited before.”  
“Santos’ place?”  
“The same, except I redecorated.”  
“Wow,” Frank Castle said, admiring the plastic-covered room, “When Dexter here goes out, he goes all out.”  
“Oh, shit!” Javier said, “It’s him! It’s the Punisher!”  
I tapped Javier on his forehead. “Hey, pay attention!” I said. “You seem to be worried about Mr. Castle here. Let me assure you, Special Agent, you don’t need to worry about him.”  
“It’s true,” Castle said, “I ain’t gonna kill you.”  
Javier exhaled. “Oh, thank Jesus. So, why am I wrapped up like this?”  
“You may not worry about The Punisher,” I said, “But you’re still going to die.”  
“It was nothing personal! It was business!”  
“You were protecting your own ass,” Castle snarled, “And you were using me as your own personal hitman. I don’t like being used, Javier. And I really don’t like it when my friends end up paying the price, because I don’t have many friends.”  
“You have one friend here, Castle,” I said. “One who owes you.”  
“You don’t owe me shit, Morgan. Just kill this piece of trash already.”  
“Morgan?” Javier said, “You don’t have to do this! No! Turn me in! I’ll confess! You don’t have to kill me!”  
“You’re right,” I said, as I took my knife from my gear bag, “I don’t have to kill you. I want to kill you. There’s a difference.”  
I plunged the knife into Javier’s plastic-covered torso. I watched as the life fled from his eyes. I saw the blood spreading under the transparent wrap. I noticed Frank turning away, but only briefly.  
“He’s gone,” I said.  
“Good. May he rot in hell. You know, all this work you put into this set-up seems a wasted effort. Hell, I woulda just killed the piece of shit and let him rot.”  
“Yes, well, everyone knows who The Punisher is. Nobody knows who Dexter Morgan is, and I’d rather keep it that way. So, I follow the code.”  
“I respect a man who lives by a code You know, I get it. I get what you do and why you do it.”  
“Not many people do. I’m not sure that I do.”  
“So, now what do you do?”  
“I’ll dispose of the body, and you get out of here.”  
“Yeah. In fact, I’m going to be leaving Miami. I’ve got business with the cartel down in Mexico.”  
“I understand. Miami is going to be kind of boring without you, Frank.”  
“Ah, bullshit. There’s gonna be something batshit coming up soon, you know it. Anyway, I’ll leave that in your hands.”  
“Thanks, Frank.” I then extended my hand to him, which he shook. Damn, he has a strong grip.  
“Yeah, well, you’re a sick freak, Morgan. Take care of that sister of yours, you hear me? She may be tough, but everyone needs someone to have their back.”  
“What about you, Frank? What about your back?”  
“I got my own back.”  
With that, Frank Castle walked out of Isabel Santos’ house and out of my life. He claims he understands me. I understand him as well, and I know why he walks alone. At one time, I would have preferred to live the same way, and I believed that solitude was the best way for me. I’ve discovered that it’s not true, that I need people in my life not just as a cover, and not just to appear normal, but because they give me meaning and purpose. I need Debra, and Harrison, and Astor, and Cody, and all the others who have come through my life. They may not truly know me, which is a blessing for them, and that’s all right. All I know is that they make my life, as twisted and dark as it is, worth living.

**Author's Note:**

> FRANKLIN POSNER is the author of Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition – With Vampires, and its award-winning sequel, Suburban Vampire Ragnarok. He lives in Portland, Oregon. For more information, please visit FranklinPosner.com.


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